December 28th, 2011

hiroshige: foxfires on musashino

(no subject)

Am having one of my Christmas marathon reads, aided by minimal hours at work and much phthisic languishments on sofas still. But because I'm a visual reader my mind is the most unholy stew of fragments and moods in consequence. Moods partly because I read Gene Wolfe's There are Doors in a day or so, where the narrator's dreams and his reality have exactly the same flavour, and the flavour is 'Something's happening here and you don't know what it is, do you, Mr Jones?' When you live alone and have minimal social contact with other people, it's as well to keep that kind of book balanced by more mundane stuff, or your own reality starts looking iffy. Thus I finished Point of Dreams finally, sad that the glimpse of Ruling Women wasn't quite as I'd remembered it, and Castle Rouge to have it finished, irked by CofE Englishwomen who call themselves Episcopalian and writers who don't know the difference between ravaged and ravished.

Oh, and PoD does a Hammett. Someone shoots at Lord Whatsisface and they forgot to tell us who it was.
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